In brief:

I'm a redheaded mama with four lovely daughters. We're based in southern Australia and travel in a small, colourful housebus  meeting inspiring people, learning lots and re-thinking everything. I feel passionately about spirituality, good design, alternative education, discussing death and conscious parenting.

Here's Johnny

30 July 12

It’s a pleasure to see Johnny again — and this time, in Australia! We have spent so much time living in community with him in New Zealand that he’s one of our family — a brother to David and me, and an uncle to the girls.

We picked Johnny up from the train station today and brought him home to the shed. Immediately, he was at home, finding his way around the shed and unpacking his food bag onto our shelves.

It’s wonderful to have Johnny stay. The girls love him so much and are completely comfortable in his presence. He has an amazing ability to give children his full attention and relate to them on their own level.

When Johnny arrives at our home, he and Brioni spend an hour looking together through a book of Australian birds.

Of all the people who have visited us recently, Johnny is the one who has been with us as a family most recently and for the longest amount of time. His presence reawakens bittersweet memories within me of our family times in New Zealand.

The depth of my feelings of loss continues to astound me. Whenever I pause in my day, I find myself on the verge of tears. So I set myself tasks — things to fix on the bus, ordinary chores of everyday life, or things to do with the girls. These keep me fixed in the present, because although the past was so happy, it is also too painful to contemplate in contrast to our present circumstances.

The girls have pulled out some of Elijah’s toys, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from barking at them. I still feel a sense of loyalty towards him in protecting his things from his boisterous sisters’ games.

Why do I feel the need to preserve these toys? Who am I saving them for? Wouldn’t it be better to just let the toys be played with and enjoyed in this moment? I know all this and analyse my feelings as they arise, but still, when the girls move on to another activity, I surreptitiously pack Elijah’s toys away again.

Grief is an invisible cloak that rests on my shoulders. I knew my son for such a short time! When I’m greeted with an innocent, “How are you doing?” I wonder what an honest reply would look like. And when friends and family want to take my picture, I wonder if it’s okay to smile, or is that a trivialising of my recent losses?

There are moments when I permit myself an ounce of self-pity. I find myself under the truck, using a spanner to disconnect batteries to use in the bus, and I mutter, “I’d rather be breastfeeding.” I’m doing things that I always left up to David, learning new mechanical skills and solving problems on my own. It’s a role I must move into but I preferred being the lady who relied on my man.

Aisha alone notices my moments of grief, and I don’t want to burden her at the same time as I don’t want to hide my true emotions from her. Her comfort is priceless, for she has lost two family members as I have, and yet she approaches each new day with enthusiasm and joy.

Our children are so valuable in the lessons they teach me. I can see that they live each day without worries for tomorrow. Somehow there’s always food to eat, clothes to wear, things to do and adventures to participate in. Jesus said that we needed to be like little children to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, and it’s to this that I cling as I take our children as my role models and embrace the present. I have no other life except in this moment now, so I may as well inhabit it fully.

Lauren, this is one of the most beautiful, honest, heartfelt, transparent reflections of grief I have ever read. Thank you for baring your soul so we all may see the beauty, pain, love and fragility that seems to somehow open our eyes and hearts to the possibility of love in its purest form. Love you xo

oh sweet Lauren, my heart is breaking for you. I wish you were breastfeeding too with your man working on the bus for you. and of course you can protect Elijahs special things, it is a connection you still have with him. it is hard for me to read your harsh introduction into being a single mom, I cannot imagine how you feel. You girls are so blessed to have such a loving mama, even through your pain I can feel your fierce mama bear love for them that triumphs over everything else.

Oh Lauren, every time you write about Elijah, your grief and your journey with it I find myself also close to tears, so I can imagine how much more this would be if I was walking in your shoes. Thank you for sharing this with us, in the past I have told my husband that I thought if I lost a child I could not go on (many years ago when I was less stronger than I am now), but reading experiences like yours I am encouraged that we can go on. I will keep praying that God continues to lead you as he already has been, you are right where you need to be right now.

Children have an amazing ability to cope, and to see through the sadness. Grief may appear to diminish as time goes by, but you will never forget beautiful Elijah Rainbow. Your lovely, intellegent daughters are coping in their own way, and are lucky to be able to see the beauty in the world.

It reminds me of this:

“I don’t think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains.” – Anne Frank.

Adults have a lot to learn from children, as somewhere along the way we lose that ability to see the good in the world. The lucky ones amoung us still see beauty in the everyday, and if you encounter them in your life you are indeed priveledged.

Lauren, you are very strong, and very brave. Even if you do not feel like that all the time. I admire your ability to rationalise things. I know what you mean about not wanting Elijah’s toys to be played with, but you are right, they deserve to be enjoyed. Maybe it’s your beautiful daughter’s way of remembering their beloved little brother.

Hi Lovely Lauren, from your friend in Peria, New Zealand. I have always thought your family beautiful and I still do… I have thought of you all often since you left and was stunned to hear of recent events. It was a blessing and an honour to know and spend time with you and David and all the kids, while you were in New Zealand. You are one of the nicest people I have ever met…truely. To all those out there posting self indulgent irrelevant opinions, I would like to say this. The kind & delightful personalities and advanced interpersonal abilities I witnessed these children manifest daily, are a testament to the love they have been exposed to and surrounded by, and the quality of parenting and community interaction they’ve received. They are nicer to each other than any other children of any family I’ve ever seen and their co-operation in play was a breath of fresh air to behold… Long may it continue. You have always struck me as well above average in the capacity to demonstrate love and understanding. I am glad to see you have many supporters & lots of prayer and love coming your way, and so good to see Johnny there – Hi Johnny! I also would like to know if there’s any way to get a support message to David? (I can only imagine…) Kia kaha, excellent lady that you are… Love you.

I have read this one before but am somehow drawn back to it. I write with tears running down my face at the depth, beauty and love in your writing. You are learning so much through this and we your readers and friends are learning too.
So glad Johnny can/could be with you for a time and that you have the bus to go adventuring again.

I noticed Johnny in my town (Cairns) a few days before this was posted. I’d recognize those soulful eyes anywhere! It made me think of you, and felt that it was good that he might probably see you again soon – and felt it amazing how you live and through the nomadic lifestyles of you and your friends you experience wisdoms from all corners. Hope you’re well. Love to your family, Lor. <3